


Fading Lights

by WernickesArea



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Recreational Drug Use, Stargazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-05
Updated: 2017-09-05
Packaged: 2018-12-24 06:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12006783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WernickesArea/pseuds/WernickesArea
Summary: If only Yuta could listen to songs about unrequited love and not, infallibly and miserably think about one Kim Doyoung.The pain of dealing with life is bigger than life itself.





	Fading Lights

**Author's Note:**

> IMPORTANT!
> 
> Warning for:  
> \- implied Depression and Anxiety disorders;  
> \- implied Eating Disorder;  
> \- referenced neoplasy and chemo cycles.

The room smelled acrid, the air heavy with smoke from both the fireplace and Jaehyun’s endless supply of blunts. He kept on lighting one after another, eyes closed and head leaned against the couch. 

Yuta huddled in his sleeping bag, zipper digging in his back. He rolled on his side to prop his head on his arm. From where he was splayed on the floor, he could see the dust layered under each piece of furniture. He rolled his head a little, fixing his gaze on Jaehyun’s socked foot kicking the coffee table to the beat of his psychedelic trance playlist. 

The stench of weed permeated the air, making Yuta feel sick. He closed his eyes, trying to will away the numbness creeping up his toes, making his hands go clammy.

The door to the living room opened, Hansol hurrying inside with a bag of beers hanging in the crook of his elbow. 

“Shit, it’s _cold_.” He whined, taking off his jacket and throwing it on the chair where his laptop was charging. It was covered in stickers, some of them old enough to be completely faded, others attesting Hansol’s trust in some obscure clothing brands. 

Jaehyun absently waved his hand in the direction of the fireplace, his lips pulled up in what could only be described as a pained smirk. “It’s dying.”

Hansol glanced at Yuta laying on the floor, the two locking eyes before Hansol trudged in the direction of the Jaehyun. He flicked him on the head hard enough for him to go toppling on his side, giggling and moaning. “Your synapses are dying, you fucking stoner.” 

Hansol kneeled on the couch to reach and open the window wide enough to let the heavy smoke mingle with the fresh air coming from outside, dispersing into the night. 

“Better?” 

Yuta knew that Hansol was directing that question at him, so he nodded. “Yeah, thanks.” 

Jaehyun pulled his knees to his chest, cracking his eyes open to stare at Yuta. His eyes looked dark, red corneas framed by his fluttering lashes. His cheeks were pale, but it was probably the light, framing his normally handsome features unattractively. 

“That’s my sleeping bag.” Jaehyun mumbled, his teeth clacking together from the cold wind now sneaking up on him from the open window. 

Yuta's toes were feeling frigid, despite him wearing two pairs of fuzzy socks and being layered with different garments plus a sleeping bag. “Tough.” 

Jaehyun coughed out a laugh. “Where’s yours, you dipshit?”

Yuta hummed, pensive. “Hansol’s car.”

“Hansolie!” Jaehyun called out with just too much energy coming from someone who had just finished smoking his way to Sunday School. “Go get the sleeping bag!”

Hansol lifted his head from behind his laptop from where he was busy probably checking how many likes his latest comments on PornHub got. “Fuck no. And don’t scream, the neighbors hate you already.”

Jaehyun smirked, waggling his eyebrows at Yuta who couldn’t contain his laughter. Drunk Jaehyun drawing caricatures of his best friends in the mound of snow covering the neighboring house’s mailbox must have left quite the impression last year.

Yuta sluggishly waved his arm towards Hansol, trying to catch his attention. “Turn off the lights? Please?”

Hansol nodded, flicking the switch and letting the room be swallowed by darkness. The only lights came from the embers still burning in the fireplace and from the screen of Hansol’s computer. 

Yuta’s thoughts were circling, focusing on his breathing first, then on capturing the fresh air streaming from the still open window. His heart was wetly beating in his chest, hiccups of life spreading through his veins. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to close his eyes and slip into unconsciousness; to wake up rested and glad. 

A hot breath was suddenly on his cheek, Jaehyun’s distinct smell of weed crowding his nostrils. “I’m cold.” It was a whisper, rough enough to not register immediately in Yuta’s brain. “Share?”

Yuta knew that they couldn’t both fit, at least not comfortably. He thought about whining, about telling Jaehyun to just take the couch and go to sleep. But he had missed his best friend.

(Also, he may have missed human contact, simple touches with the people in his life that were so important to him. The people he liked to have a connection with, those who had seen him at his worst and at his _absolute_ worst.)

So, Yuta unzipped the sleeping bag, heat dissolving as he let Jaehyun’s cold frame cuddle into him. They had to wrestle a little, elbows digging into ribs and noses — _you almost blinded me, what the hell_ — but they eventually got comfy. 

Yuta circled his arms around Jaehyun, letting him nuzzle into his collarbones. He wondered if Hansol would close the window sometime into the night, at least before they wouldn’t be able to share body heat anymore and had to succumb to the mountains’ subzero weather. 

He was already drifting off, when Hansol’s whisper of _you’re both so gay_ reached him. Jaehyun let a huff out of his nose, as he mumbled _you’re the fucking gayest here, shut up_. 

Yuta giggled, muttering his own reply. “I’m bi.”

At that point his mind was already too far gone to tell where the _still pretty gay_ came from.

 

They were supposed to meet the others at Taeyong’s house. Well, not that it really was _Taeyong’s_ house as much as it was his grandparents’, but the two old ladies always welcomed their loving grandson and his friends with their open arms — and plates full of food. _The vintage gays_ , as Johnny liked to refer to Taeyong’s grandmothers. 

It was reaching mid afternoon and Yuta was still lying on his stomach inside Jaehyun’s sleeping bag. The latter was sitting with his ass on Yuta’s lower back, busy messaging someone.

“You’re cutting off my circulation.” Yuta whined, wiggling his legs in an attempt at dispelling the prickly feeling. Jaehyun’s response was an uninterested hum.

The door to the living room opened to reveal Hansol with a cigarette in his mouth. “Are you fuckers ready? Taeyong’s asking where the fuck we are.” He waved his phone around in a display of hastiness. 

“Hold your horses, dude. Tell mom that we’ll be there shortly.” Jaehyun drawled lazily, still busy messaging god knows who. Yuta had a suspicion that it was that Sicheng guy that Jaehyun had been going on about every time he either got shitfaced or smoked his way into a daze. Despite having been best friends since middle school, Jaehyun still found it hard to open up about his love life. It was understandable though, in Yuta’s opinion. He himself found his brain short circuiting every time the topic came up. Hansol was the only one who could breeze out his thoughts, like they weighed nothing. Yuta admired him. 

After a whole half hour spent wrestling Jaehyun off Yuta’s back and Yuta out of his warm cocoon, the three were making their way up the streets that led to Taeyong’s house. The smell of weed and burnt wood from Hansol’s small apartment clinged to Yuta’s sweatshirt, making him wish that he had at least taken a shower before leaving. It was far too late for that though, and it was a miracle that he had even remembered to pick up his phone before leaving. 

“God, why do you guys live up the fucking Himalaya.” Jaehyun’s groan came from behind where Yuta and Hansol were walking side to side. 

“Your physical endurance is shit, live with it.” Yuta turned his head to throw a sickly sweet smile at his friend. 

“The only physical activity I partake in is sex.” Jaehyun retorted, legs pushing him up the last slope that would take them to their destination. “And you,” he pointed his finger at Yuta, “you’re a jealous asshole.” 

“We’re here kids, stop bickering.” Hansol cut into their verbal scuffle, holding the gate to the house open. 

The place was exactly like Yuta remembered. The years had eaten away at the bright orange paint of the walls, gray spots emerging here and there, but aside from that it carried the same nostalgic feeling. The porch had been renovated, comfy chairs scattered on either side of the main entrance. 

Loud and familiar voices could be heard coming from inside. Jaehyun knocked on the door. The voices quieted, and Hansol rolled his eyes. 

“It’s us, you bunch of morons.” He hollered, banging on the door for good measure. It swung open after a split second.

“Good to see you guys!” 

Yuta’s breath caught in his chest at the sight of Doyoung standing on the other side of the door. 

“Hey, Doyoungie!” Jaehyun smiled sweetly, giving Doyoung a half hug. “Nice ‘do you have there.” 

The taller boy laughed, passing a hand through his newly dyed hair. “I was worried that it was going to be too much…” 

“Nah, purple is cool.” Jaehyun turned to the other two who were still standing on the steps. Hansol nodded in agreement, not wasting any time in taking out a joint and making himself comfortable on one of the garden chairs. 

Mark’s call of _Jaehyun!_ had the boy light up happily before he made his way into the house to greet the others. 

Yuta felt like he still had to shake the rust of some residual dream sticking to him. He felt far away and too tight around his own skin. Doyoung’s profile made his hands itch — God how he wanted to impress it on paper with one of his pencils. His purple hair shimmered, adding a playfulness to his features. If only Yuta could listen to songs about unrequited love and not, infallibly and miserably think about one Kim Doyoung. 

The boy turned around, as if remembering that Yuta wasn’t indeed a new garden decoration, but was nonetheless standing unmoving with a stony expression. 

“Hi.” Doyoung had a soft voice. That wasn’t the case every time, because it could get high and whiny, but the tenderness could be picked up as a thrumming baseline. 

“Hi.” Yuta could feel the raspiness in his tone scraping his throat. He took a couple of steps towards the door. Doyoung didn’t budge, only raising his eyebrows at him.  
The sound of running steps fastly approached them, and suddenly Donghyuck’s face popped up from behind Doyoung’s back. His sunny expression lit up even further when he spotted Yuta.

“Yuta! Bro!” He almost threw himself at the other, risking to make them topple over. 

“Woah there, little man!” Yuta couldn’t help but laugh at the display of affection. 

Donghyuck hugged him tight, jumping in place. “You never come around anymore!” 

Yuta felt a pang of guilt at the truthful admission, letting Donghyuck’s heat seep into his bones. The tiredness was always there, making his sinew feel like tar, but now he could forget about it for a while longer. 

Chenle’s screech was all the warning they got before a third body slammed into them. “Yuta!!!”

Yuta let out a surprised huff. Doyoung was laughing, shoulder leaning against the door frame. Yuta patted the two younger boys on their heads, disentangling himself from the hug. It was nice, but it had become suffocating. 

Once Donghyuck and Chenle calmed down enough and weren’t hanging onto Yuta like he was an anchor at deep sea, they all entered the house. 

The smell of food was strong, the television in the living room displaying the pause screen for Left 4 Dead. Johnny, Taeil and Ten were all on the couch, chatting. Doghyuck, Mark and Chenle had roped Jaehyun into a very intense game of rock paper scissors to decide who would be the first two to use the game console — they used to have more than two joysticks, but Johnny had a knack for destroying things. 

Yuta stopped to greet everyone, putting up with the incessant whines of how he hadn’t shown his face in forever. When Taeyong popped out of the kitchen telling that food was ready, everyone dropped what they were doing and rushed to get a seat at the dining table. Taeyong’s culinary abilities had always been over the top, but he had exceeded himself that day. Yuta didn’t know if it was because the whole group had finally got together after being incomplete for quite a while, but the way that Taeyong carefully served each one of them like some overbearing mother hen told him that he probably wasn’t wrong. 

Dinner went by in a flash, everyone exchanging stories and Chenle almost starting a food fight — Taeyong had glared at whoever even _tried_ to go along with it. Once the plates had been wiped clean, each one of them went back to their previous activities. Mark and Jaehyun were screaming at the tv screen as they slayed zombies. Ten, Taeyong and Hansol were chatting in hushed tones in a corner, Taeil joining in soon after. Doyoung had coerced Donghyuck and Chenle into helping him clean up, promising them ice cream if they kept the bitching to a minimum. 

Yuta found himself looking on as each scene unfolded in front of his eyes. He stuck around a little longer, until he felt the need for some fresh air, and made his way outside. There was a sliding door at the end of the hallway, leading to a small balcony that overlooked the neighbouring house. Once the cold, autumn air filled his lungs, Yuta felt his heart slow down. 

He hadn’t realized how close he was to bolting away, but now that his thoughts had lost their anxious edge, he realized that he needed some alone time. He breathed in, deeply, then exhaled calmly. He repeated the motion a couple of times, before reaching into the pocket of his jeans and fishing out a pack of cigarettes. He had confiscated them from Mark, the kid far too young in Yuta’s eyes to go and pick up such a nasty habit. If Taeyong found out, hell would break loose. 

Now that he was alone, Yuta’s only company were his ever plummeting thoughts. And as he lit up a cigarette and brought it to his lips, he played around with the lighter, succumbing to them. 

Somehow he couldn’t stop replaying Doyoung’s profile in his head — the soft curve of his nose, the slope of his jawline. Yuta had been harboring feelings for him for years, his best attempts at snuffing them out ending with him sleeping on the bathroom floor, the taste of alcohol in his mouth. And when he got back to his senses, and stared at his reflection in the mirror above the stained sink, the only words he could come up to describe himself were _fucking ugly_. 

If you could open Yuta up like a crate, and reach your hand far, far deep into him, you would find the tips of your fingers stained with black, charred ashes. Like a fire had died off ages ago, and had only left behind rubble. 

But if you reached far into Doyoung, what you would find was a fire still burning. Sometimes not only burning, but blazing. Both scary and mesmerizing.  
Yet, like a fractal, shifting further away but still retaining its essence, the fire could be seen crackling inside the hearth of a cozy house. Its warmth promising to keep you safe. Never cold, never hungry, never alone. 

Yuta wished that he could reach out and let the warmth of Doyoung seep through the coldest ripples of his skin. He shook his own head at the thought, hiding a self-deprecating smile behind the sleeve of his coat. 

Yuta could wish all he wanted, but he wasn't deserving of such warmth.  
Truth is that he wasn't deserving of many things in his life, but Doyoung was the pin at the top of the board making sure that such a reminder never shifted out of his gaze.

Yuta took another drag of his cigarette, feeling his head become light. He grabbed the railing of the balcony with strength, trying to keep himself anchored. Despite what he told himself, he was so afraid of floating away, losing himself somewhere. It would have been lovely to get scattered into the dark sky, each one of his flecks mirroring the stars. The highest form of reverence was imitation, right? 

But if he let himself go, he would only evaporate inside his own head, slip further behind. 

And as Yuta cast a glance back inside the house and admired Doyoung's back, the man busy fending off Donghyuck and Chenle tag teaming against him to initiate a tickle fight, he thought how he didn't want to let himself go. 

So he gripped the railing harder, for a second longer, the smoke from his cigarette fogging up his vision. 

As he threw the butt somewhere into the distance — probably the garden of the nearby house — the rolling sound of the sliding door reached his ears. Silently, someone sidled up to Yuta, bringing with him the smell of food and the undertone of some oversold cologne. 

“I didn't know that you smoked.” Taeyong’s ever unsteady voice rang in the space around them, high enough to not disappear under the ruckus coming from inside the house.

“Don’t—” Yuta cleared his voice. It was still scratchy from the smoke, little ripples of emotion clogging up his words. “I don’t. Mark had bought them, so I had to take them from him.” 

Taeyong sighed, leaning his elbows on the rail, letting his head roll between them. His pink hair tickled his forearms. Yuta felt a shiver run down his back as he massaged his own. 

“God… puberty.”

Yuta snickered. “Am I right?”

“Pass me one of those. God knows I desperately need one right now.” Taeyong tilted his head towards the pack of cigarettes, eye bags unkindly illuminated by the flickering light of the porch. 

With no hesitation, Yuta opened the flap on the packet, Tayeong fishing one stick out. He brought it to his lips, a slight tremble visible in his hands. Yuta’s own hands weren’t stable as he helped his friend light the cigarette up.

“How are you doing?” The words left Yuta’s mouth as he took in the glassy look in Taeyong’s eyes. 

There was a long, stretched out silence, and then: “Fuck if I know.” 

“How’s your mom?” 

Taeyong shrugged, dragging in as much smoke as he could. He was the kind of guy to smoke all the way to the filter, careful not to inhale the foul tasting end — at least, he used to be, until his mother got diagnosed with lung cancer and he couldn’t bring himself to touch a cigarette for three months straight. 

“Taking turns with my sister to take her to the hospital for her cycles. She can’t eat anything, but she says that she’s feeling okay.” Taeyong massaged the back of his neck. “Thanks for asking, though.” 

These situations unsettled Yuta to his depths, leaving him torn between showering his friend in words of empty encouragement and nodding wordlessly along, while his head swirled vertiginously.

Taeyong’s mom was a gentle lady. Despite her relatively young age, her hair was fully gray, a characteristic that made her eyes look kind and her face forgiving. She was nothing like Yuta’s mom. Her hair was always pulled into a taut bun, eyes scanning her son in search of something out of the ordinary, like he was constantly keeping something from her. Yuta was indeed keeping many things from her, but it was more under the guise of self preservation rather than teenage rebellion. Unlike Taeyong’s mom, she rarely showered her son in praises and affections. She didn’t deny him the stray hug or the ever so rare kiss on the cheek, but aside from that she would scrutinize Yuta from head to toe. 

If Yuta had to be like his mother wanted him to be, then he would keep his hair short, never past his ears. And said ears would bear no signs of being scarred by piercings and metal bars. His clothes would be pristine, just like his daily routine — up at 8am sharp, in bed before 10pm. He would take home a girl, introduce her to his parents and never cry in front of her. 

If Yuta had to be like his mother wanted him to be, then he wouldn’t have to hide his bottle of anti-depressants because _There was no need for such stuff_. 

Every morning, as Yuta stared at his reflection looking back at him, septum piercing dangling from his nose, pink shirt tucked into his shredded jeans and hair growing past his eyes, he was glad that he was nothing like his mother wanted him to be.

The sliding door was opened once more, Ten’s voice filling the grim atmosphere. 

“Is something illegal going on out here?” His sly grin widened at Taeyong’s indignant _No_. 

“Don’t worry babe, I know that you’re a saint.” Ten put his arm around his boyfriend’s waist, dragging him into his side so he could nuzzle his nose against his neck. 

Yuta raised his eyebrow. “ _Right_ , Ten. Does he even call you that? I was pretty sure that—” 

“Stop!” Taeyong’s whole face was flushed red, the tips of his ears burning as bright as his pink hair. Ten couldn’t contain his laughter, doubling over himself and almost dragging his boyfriend with him. 

Once the dark haired boy regained his composure, he directed a softer smile at Taeyong, kissing him on his nose. Then, he directed a similar smile at Yuta — it didn’t hold the same fond edges to it, but it was warm nonetheless. “We missed you.” 

Yuta tried his best to smile back, but he wasn’t sure how to do exactly that. His face was so stiff lately. “Thanks. I missed you too.” It was true, despite the feeling hardly being passed through his expression.

Neither Ten nor Taeyong seemed put off by that though, as they started to chat with him. It was mostly mindless conversation, something that Yuta and Taeyong wouldn’t have been able to ease into without Ten’s ever lighthearted demeanor. 

 

To Johnny suggestion — and the youngers’ insistence — clear nights in the mountains weren’t fully enjoyed unless a fireplace was lit. _And marshmallows roasted!_ Chenle screamed. It took them all some time to gather what was needed, but they eventually threw all the necessary stuff into a wheelbarrow and pushed it up the hill behind the house. The ground was dry, the path so dark that even the lights from their phones couldn’t show the holes hiding away. Mark fell on his face a couple of times, Donghyuck’s laughter resonating all the way down the hillside. 

The walk wasn’t supposed to take long, but the path seemed to drag on for hours. Hansol and Taeyong had to stop a couple of times to help a high Jaehyun not stumbling on his own two feet. Taeil and Doyoung, who were at the head of the group, called out to the people behind them once they spotted a clearing. As everyone slowly trickled in it, _Ooh_ s and _Ahh_ s interspersed the tired huffs. The clearing wasn’t too big, but it overlooked the city in a breathtaking view. 

Yuta pushed himself the last two feet or so before his entire vision swam with faraway lights. He put a hand on his chest to calm his heavy breaths, yet his heart refused to stop rushing in his ears. Gentle dots and bright streaks gave the illusion of sailing away in the distant valley. A voice brought him back to his senses, a hand laying on his back.

“Is everything alright?” Doyoung dark eyes looked even darker, their subtle glow asking many other questions. 

“Yeah, just had to catch my breath. The view here is something else.” Yuta trailed off, tongue sticking to his palate in awkward ways. 

Doyoung nodded, scanning the vast vision before them. “It’s really cold though.” 

Yuta lowered his head, looking at his own freezing hands — Doyoung was probably wearing two sweaters under his puffy jacket, an additional pair of socks sticking out from the ones he was already wearing. “Yeah, ‘s cold.” 

Taeyong called out to ask everyone to lend a hand at setting camp. Thanks to Hansol’s past as a Boy scout, they managed to light up a big enough fire in a reasonable amount of time. 

“Always trust our troupe leader.” Johnny patted Hansol on the back, sharing an articulated handshake with him. 

As the fire grew bigger, everyone took a place around it. Thankfully, they had brought enough blankets to lay on the ground and to throw over their shoulders, if only to Taeyong’s and Doyoung’s insistence. 

Yuta spent a minute too long admiring the starry sky that was so clear now above them, that he realized that the only free place to sit was between Taeil and Mark. A pang of disappointment hit him when his eyes fell on Doyoung, sitting on the other side of the circle between Taeyong and Donghyuck. The disappointment was mixed with relief too, though, his knees cracking as he crossed his legs to fit the tiny space. 

A family sized pack of marshmallow got passed from hand to hand, Yuta taking two for himself — Chenle had taken ten. 

“Here.” He said as he passed the bag to Taeil who thanked him and simply passed it along.

“Are you not taking any?” Yuta asked, sticking his sweets into a wooden stick. 

Taeil shook his head. “We played chubby bunny earlier with Donghyuck and Chenle.” He grimaced as Yuta laughed. 

Taeil wasn’t one of Yuta’s closest friends. They seldom talked, just the two of them, but when they did, Yuta realized how receptive the elder was. His self acclaimed inability to express his feelings manifested itself in his awkward smiles and the way he scuffed his feet against the ground. Yet, under layers of monosyllabic answers, there was a warm cocoon. Yuta was never too keen on opening up to people, but he had opened up to Taeil right away. And it was probably because of that that the question coming from him shouldn’t have surprised Yuta that much.

“Are you okay with this?” 

Yuta redirected his attention from the marshmallows browning under the bright flames to his friend sitting beside him. 

“What?” 

Taeil skimmed his eyes from Yuta to the people sitting on the other side of the circle. They were being loud, what with Johnny and Ten having the most terrible rap battle of the century, Donghyuck hyping them up. Taeyong, Hansol and Doyoung were looking on amused, the latter clapping along — his nose was curled in silent judgement. Yuta took the time to stare at him longer. The planes of his cheeks were hollowed out, the tip of his nose red from the cold. His clothes looked too big on him, sleeves bunched up in his hands. A distant flashback thundered in his mind, the memory of a summer gone by, short sleeves and too thin arms. Yuta bit the inside of his cheek, worry crawling in the pit of his stomach. 

Taeil had been staring at Yuta, a knowing lilt to his head. 

“It’s whatever. Really.” Yuta shrugged, leaning back on his arms and staring up at the sky. He wasn’t in the mood to squander his words. 

From his position, he couldn’t see Taeil, but he felt the shift in the blanket on which they were sitting. The fire crackled, reminding Yuta of his long forgotten marshmallows. They must have been charred at that point. 

The constellations blinked languidly, making Yuta nostalgic of something that was never his. He wondered why he felt more at ease when the night fell, rather than under the morning sun. Sure, he loved playing in the soccer field when the warm rays kissed his naked calves, yet his whole body reached such a serene state when it was being illuminated by the old floodlights. 

“Is that the milky way?” 

Yuta jerked out of his reverie, hands slipping under him and his upper body thumping on the ground. Doyoung snorted, taking in the other’s dazed expression. 

“... ouch.” Yuta blinked a couple of times to dispel the foggy feeling. Neither Taeil nor Mark were sitting near him anymore, everyone having decided to partake in some kind of dance competition. 

“You do realize that if you had hit your head, your neural count would have gone down to zero.”

Yuta laid where he was, blades of grass tickling his cheeks. “Scared that I would steal your podium?” 

Doyoung tsked, returning his eyes to the fireplace. From where he was lying, Yuta could see the sparks lifting from the flames being reflected in those round orbs. 

“Why are your marshmallows charred?”

“How do you know those are mine?”

Doyoung raised a brow in answer, fixating Yuta with _The Look_. He couldn’t exactly give it a name, it was something intrinsically Doyoung’s — a funny mixture between judgment, disbelief and cuteness. Yuta thought that Doyoung was cute even when he was being the literal _Shade King_. What a fucking loser. 

“I forgot about them.” 

Doyoung reached behind himself. “Here, do you want another one?” 

Yuta sat upright, taking the now half empty bag of marshmallows from him. “Only if we share.” He quirked his lips upwards, shaking it in front of Doyoung. 

“Sure.” 

The answer was unexpected. Yuta was expecting a quip to his teasing, a sequitur to their endless banter. He did not expect Doyoung to stack three marshmallows on a stick and place them next to the fire. 

They stayed in silence, Yuta admiring the pink and green hues of Doyoung’s dyed hair as the other kept a close eye on their treats. Once the marshmallows had gained a honeyed outer layer, he brought them to his lips and blew on them. 

Then, he shoved them in Yuta’s face. “Here, taste.” 

Yuta nibbled on a corner, the stringy paste sticking to his lips. It was overly sweet and tasted like artificial vanilla. Doyoung took a small bite too, cheeks bunching up as he chewed. Yuta had to hold in a sigh — God, he was so cute. 

“Are you having fun?” Doyoung crossed his legs and turned to face in Yuta’s direction, still nibbling on their marshmallow. 

“Sure.” Yuta bent forward to steal a bite. “What about you?” 

“You haven’t been hanging out with us lately.” 

Yuta frowned at how Doyoung had so blatantly ignored his question. “I was busy with stuff. Also, you’re rude. Are you having fun or not?” 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Are you doing this on purpose.”

“Can you _please_ talk to me, Yuta?” Doyoung’s voice was exasperated. His eyes were now reflecting the darkness surrounding them, a nervous tick making his right eyebrow twitch.

“I’m better, okay?!” Yuta bit out with more force than he had intended. He was grinding his teeth, he realized, so he willed himself to relax his temples. “I’m working on this. Getting better, I mean.” 

Doyoung studied his face with squinty eyes, doubt not leaving him. “You look tired.”

Yuta laughed. It was a humorless sound. “Shit, I could sleep my way through judgment day.” He inhaled. “Really though, I’m better. I’ve been hustling like a champ.” 

Doyoung rolled his eyes, smacking Yuta on his shoulder. Ten’s raucous laughter leaked into their little bubble, making them both turn their heads to what their friends were perpetuating. Mark was flapping his hands in the most ridiculous way, face scrunched up. Johnny, Taeyong and Taeil were firing one words after another in an attempt at guessing what Mark was imitating. Once they guessed it right, it was Taeyong’s turn. Neither Yuta nor Doyoung could reign in their laughter this time around. 

“Oh!” Yuta exclaimed, turning his attention back to the boy sitting beside him and clapping his hands together. “How’s Miss Turnip?” 

Doyoung sighed. “She died last week.”

“What?! You mean to tell me that my _daughter_ died and no one told me?! Did you murder her, Doyoung?!”

Miss Turnip was Doyoung’s pet bunny. It was a present from Jaehyun who thought that it would be downright _hilarious_ for Doyoung to own a _bunny_. She was a small, black thing, all shifty eyes and long ears. Yuta had spent whole afternoons petting her, forcing Doyoung to kick him back home. _You really use me only for my possessions_ he would sigh. 

“I didn’t murder her! She was old. Dwarf bunnies usually live up to four years and she was going to be seven this December.”

“Wow. Now I’m sad. Like. Super sad.” Yuta fell back on the grass, Doyoung following him. 

Their shoulders weren’t touching, but the latter’s presence was like a celestial body — it demanded attention, and Yuta was a mere human being, weak and fallible. Doyoung could be as big as a speck of dust, and he would still have Yuta catering to him like a stray atom.  
Most days he hated such feelings. He hated being pulled out of his safe groundings, hated having to face the fact that so many things bothered him — even unreasonably so. Yuta wanted to be a man of reason, prideful of his alembics and formulas. The tides inside him though, shook him daily, up and down as he navigated each hour with unhinge. 

And, unbeknownst to him, Doyoung was the full moon. 

“Please don’t be afraid to talk to me.” Doyoung’s voice was so quiet. “I know that in your thick head you probably worry about burdening me, but I’m not made of glass.” 

Yuta knew that. His wrists may have been thin and his ankles resembling tree branches, but Doyoung was not weak. His determination was as unyielding as a mountain. He was smart, and witty, his tongue quick and his humor sharp. Yuta wasn’t afraid of burdening Doyoung, because the boy had fought his way out of his own misery with nails and teeth — he was more than capable of dealing with Yuta’s fucking nonsense. 

What Yuta was afraid of was being read like a book, all his ugliest scars exposed for Doyoung to pity and cry over. 

“I know. I simply wouldn’t know where to start.” It was intended as a lie, but it tasted so true on his palate. 

“Do you still draw?” 

The question took Yuta off guard. It pierced through his chest and it _hurt_. “Sometimes.”

“Do you play soccer?”

“Sometimes.” 

“Do you still cry over dumb anime?”

Yuta laughed. “That, I do.” 

“Weeb.” 

Yuta turned his head, and found that Doyoung was looking at him. His cheeks glowed softly under the warmth of the fire, his teeth peeking ever so slightly from behind his lips. A rush of emotions surprised Yuta, chemicals surging straight to his brain as the utter need to _fucking kiss Doyoung_ lit his nerves. He swallowed around the knot in his throat. 

“Look, a shooting star!” Donghyuck shouted, pointing excitedly at the horizon.

Everyone turned to catch the fading tail of the star. 

“There’s more!” Mark exclaimed. Little by little, the whole sky was lit up by hundreds of sailing lights. It was utterly breathtaking. 

“You all better be wishing for me to become rich.” Ten called out loud enough. 

“Shouldn’t you wish for true love?” Taeil questioned with a tilt of his head.

“I already found that.” And with a sickly smack, Ten kissed Taeyong on the mouth, making everyone gag in response. 

As the stars kept on falling, Yuta came up with any kind of wish that he could think of. They were all small wishes, things along the lines of _a dog_ or _a life supply of takoyaki_. He couldn’t entrust his deepest desires to fading lights. 

 

The walk back to the house was harder than they had expected. Almost everyone’s phone was dead, depriving them of the ever useful built-in torch. The sole illumination was provided by Hansol, who was brandishing a burning stick, acting like a dungeon master leading them into a cave — he was having fun doing his _Gollum_ voice, too. It was a only matter of time until someone tumbled down the hill. And just like clockwork, Yuta tripped on a protruding rock. 

“Shit—” He was ready to have his teeth meet the merciless ground, when an arm grabbed him by the waist and prevented his fall. 

Doyoung heaved a sigh of relief, knocking his head against Yuta’s shoulder. 

“Here.” The taller boy took his hand. “Let’s try to keep tonight’s victim count low.” 

Yuta was trying his best to ignore the flutter in his stomach, doing everything in his power to pay attention where he stepped. Doyoung’s hands were warm, which was unexpected — Yuta’s own were clammy.

The bell of the near church had struck midnight, when the whole group had finally reached Taeyong’s house and put everything into place. To unanimous vote, they all decided to each head back home, the hike having worn them out. Yuta stopped to say his goodbyes to the kids first, Donghyuck making him promise to hang out with them more often from then on — Yuta crossed his heart. It was Johnny’s turn then, followed by Ten and Taeil, who hugged him tighter than he had expected. 

Taeyong dragged him to the side, strong grip holding onto Yuta’s forearm. “Don’t disappear again, okay?” 

Yuta scoffed. “Why’s everyone convinced that I’m a ghost.”

Taeyong furrowed his brows. “Promise?”

“Yes, _mom_.”

The pink haired man nodded once, before a smirk bloomed on his face. “Go now. Doyoung will walk you home.”

Yuta made a puzzled expression, glancing behind himself, as if Taeyong was setting him up for some intricate prank. “I’m walking home with Hansol and Jaehyun, though?”

Taeyong rolled his eyes, pushing him towards the living room. “Whatever, it’s time for you guys to leave.” And with that, the main door closed behind his back and he was left blinking at Jaehyun, Hansol and Doyoung talking amongst themselves by the gate. 

Hansol waved at Yuta, indicating that they were gonna leave without him if he didn’t get a move on. Yuta jogged down the stairs and sidled up next to Doyoung. No one said a word as the four of them walked back to Hansol’s apartment, Jaehyun kicking up pebbles as they went. Yuta wanted to point out how there was no need for Doyoung to go with them, but he felt too strange bringing it up. Somehow, he felt like there was a meaning to it that only he was missing. 

The lights in every house lining the street were off, a cold breeze dragging dead leaves along the sidewalk. Jaehyun humming under his breath was all the sound that could be heard. Even the birds had gone to sleep. 

Suddenly, Doyoung stopped in his tracks. Instinctively, Yuta halted too, despite Hansol’s apartment being right across the street — Jaehyun and Hansol didn’t turn around once while they hurried to get inside.

The night was clear, no clouds overhead, but Yuta could feel the electricity of a storm running through his nerves. He stayed in place, looking at his taller friend lagging behind.

Doyoung was looking at him with poorly veiled expectation. He was wringing his fingers together, lips pulled into a straight line. Yuta was confused as to why the other was acting like that. His brain was tired, gears slowed down by his poor sleep schedule — the smell of smoke and marshmallow was stuck on his sweatshirt, and it fucked with his head. 

“Just kiss him already, you absolute asshat!” Jaehyun hollered from the half open window of the living room. His words echoed down the road and past the woods. Hansol hushed him inside, slamming the glass closed.

Yuta’s ears were burning, shame setting his cheeks on fire. “What the fuck, Jaehyun?! I’ll whoop your ass, you pothead!” 

“Is he wrong though?”

“What?” Yuta whipped his head towards Doyoung, his purple hair looking almost black in the middle of the poorly lit street. 

Doyoung crossed his arms in front of his chest. “I know that you try not to be obvious, and someone as dense as Taeyong wouldn’t realize. But do you really think that I didn’t notice?” 

Yuta gaped, feet anchoring him to the ground like bricks. 

“You like to call me stupid, but do you really believe that I am?” Doyoung pressed on, his wide shoulders straightening. 

“You sure are stupid at times.” Yuta quipped, brain falling back into that practiced dynamic.

Doyoung massaged the bridge of his nose. “Don’t do this now. Be serious for once.” 

“I really don’t know what you want me to say.” Yuta was calling on all his defenses. He was already slipping inside his own head, tips of his fingers numb. 

“I want you to be serious and address this issue.”

“There is no _issue_ , why are you talking like my fucking mom.”

“Then stop acting like a child, so we can talk like two adults!” Doyoung had raised his voice, right eyebrow twitching. Yuta despised seeing his friend getting worked up, but that night he couldn’t back down. 

“Stop acting like I owe you some kind of explanation, and move the fuck on!” 

Doyoung took a sharp intake of air, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Suit yourself then. Keep on pushing everyone away and see how that ends.”

“Not everyone is like you, okay?! Not everyone can snap out of it and go on like nothing happened. I sure as fuck can’t.” Adrenaline was coursing through Yuta, altering his judgment. 

“So, because you refuse to open up, you are just going to avoid this.” Doyoung looked defeated, eyes swimming in something. Yuta refused to look at him longer and ascertain that it was tears. 

“What even is _this_. I don’t understand.”

Wind rustled the leaves of the trees, ruffling Doyoung’s hair. Tears were now leaking down his big eyes. He aggressively dried them with the back of his hand. 

“Fuck you, Yuta. You’re so fucking tiring.”

Yuta was on the verge of tears too — they stinged and crawled their ways up his throat. 

“Why is it my fault? Why is it my fault if I’m scared shitless?” He choked back a sob. “Do you want to hear it? Very well, Doyoung, listen up. I love you, you fucking prick. Are you happy now? Did you want this from me? Did you need to rip out more of my heart that I had already given you, you abs—” 

Strong hands grabbed the sides of Yuta’s head, steadying his frenzied rant. His tears had entirely fogged up his vision, but he could hear Doyoung’s own quickened breath on his own lips. 

“Shut up. Shut up.” Doyoung’s whisper broke on the last word. 

He gently laid his lips on Yuta’s trembling ones, waiting until their hearts synced. He smelled of wood and marshmallows too. 

“You’re the tiring one.” Yuta murmured, tasting tears on his tongue. He wasn’t sure who they belonged to. 

“You made me cry.”

“You, too.”

Doyoung kissed him more insistently, pressing himself against Yuta’s chest. His lips were soft and his mouth wet. Yuta circled his arms around his still too thin waist, pulling him closer. There was no physical distance between their hearts — merely two ribcages of flesh and bones. Yuta thought back to the old days, when they both were happy and _fine_ , playing around like friends would do. As they grew up, life slowly chipped away at their naive shells, leaving them bruised and exposed. 

As Yuta held Doyoung in his arm, he could count the vertebrae in his spine. Stupidly, he regretted not wishing for Doyoung’s happiness upon the many falling stars. 

He didn’t trust himself enough to be able to grant him that. 

They kissed for so long that Yuta couldn’t tell the difference between his own lips and Doyoung’s ones. He could feel the sting of bites, but it was continuously soothed by a tongue running over them. Yuta shifted his grip, sliding his hands up Doyoung’s neck and cupping the sides of his face. His skin was hot and malleable under the tips of his fingers — Doyoung trembled when one of them grazed the lobe of his ear.

When they parted to fill their lungs back with air, Yuta couldn’t tear his eyes away from the vision in front of him. Looking Doyoung from afar was satisfying enough, but seeing all his little imperfections from up close was a godsend. There was a scar right beside the curl of his lips — Yuta placed a kiss on it.

“For the record, I love you too. Dumbass.” Doyoung mumbled, his eyes closed. 

Yuta couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled up from deep inside his chest and spread along his limbs with the beating of his heart. 

A single shooting star fell, somewhere in the vast sky, but Yuta never saw it. 

He didn’t need to.

**Author's Note:**

> [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/loonapathy)


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